Heller’s face grew cloudy if only for a second, a tiny space replacing the intimacy between us. But as soon as I noticed it, his mouth turned into a smile.
“One more lap.” he said. “She can wait a little while longer.”
Heller kissed me softly and started the engine.
CHAPTER 35
Now
I try to ignore the butterflies in my stomach as I pull into the Applebee Grocer parking lot. No doubt in the middle of a rainstorm it’ll be packed with folks loading up on provisions. But I keep my head down and push open the front door. Sure enough, the place is swamped. I make a beeline for the spice aisle and try to find the cumin as fast as I can.
I dodge my kindergarten teacher and one of the assistant hockey coaches, and grab a thirty-two-ounce plastic container of the cheap stuff, tucking it under my arm as I practically run to the check-out line. I plunk it down on the conveyer belt, hand the cashier Christina’s rumpled bill, and rush out of the store without looking behind me.
I’m fumbling for the keys to the van when I see someone lurking around the side of the store, under an awning, smoking a cigarette. I pause, the keys sandwiched between my knuckles. When I see who it is, his name forms on my lips.
“Jordan Adler.” Before I can stop myself, before I can think about what he might be capable of, I’m stomping over to him. When I approach, Dylan’s brother is looking at me with a smirk, like he can’t believe I’m standing there. He’s wearing a sweatshirt and a baseball cap, covering his greasy hair. Rain falls insheets around us but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“Can’t get the organic shit over at Alpine Lake?” he asks.
I try to keep my focus. “Where were you that night?”
Jordan’s eyes grow stormy and he tenses, his whole body stiff. “Excuse me?”
“The night Heller died. Where were you?”
“What the fuck are you asking me for?”
My eyes narrow and I take a step toward him, summoning all the strength in my body. “You knew. You knew about the accident. How Heller hurt Dylan, ruined his chances of getting out of this place.” I drop my voice so I sound like him.“That fucker got what he deserved.”
Jordan shakes his head and his bottom lip quivers. He sucks on a cigarette and blows out a puff of smoke. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
I nod, furious, confused.
“I say fucked-up shit when I’m drunk.”
“Excuse me?”
“I was out of my mind at the vigil. Had to be to get through that. I was fucking furious at Heller. Still am. The kid was one of my best friends. Then he goes and does that shit to Dylan? Then hedies?” Jordan shakes his head. “Sure, he’s gone, but I’m not gonna stop being mad at him. Not yet.”
“Answer me,” I say, forceful. “Where were you?”
Jordan stubs out his cigarette against the wall and reaches behind his back. He pulls out his phone and starts thumbing through his camera roll. When he gets to an image of a bonfire and a tent, he stops.
“I was camping in Maine that night with a dozen buddies. Check the location and timestamp.”
I grab his phone and do exactly that, my heart rate slowing as his story becomes truth.
He yanks it back and shoves it back into his pocket. “You better watch yourself, going around making accusations like that.”
“But... you knew. How?”
Jordan taps his foot, nervous. “One night when Heller got wasted. The guilt ate at him, I guess. He was mumbling over and over how he ruined your life.”
I shake my head. That’s impossible. When Heller got drunk, he became funny and gregarious, a king. Not sad and bumbling. But I was never with him at a party after the accident. Maybe he changed.
“I asked him what he meant and he told me. Broke down.”
“What did you say?”
